


Babbling Souls

by WhoopsOK



Series: Damp [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Confessions, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Pre-CGL Relationship, Prequel, Secrets, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean’s gut instinct is to drop to the floor between Sam’s feet and rest his head on Sam’s knee. He thinks Sam probably wouldn’t even give him too much grief about it, but there’s just something about it that seems too… juvenile. And not in the way Sam is used to seeing out of him.”</p>
<p>(A prequel to the Damp series: Dean has a new “interest”, but it takes some effort for him to finally spit it out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well goodness me, these past few weeks have been pretty doggone terrible and I wanted to write something sweet. I hope you and yours are ok. I hope this helps you relax a little.

The Winchesters are no strangers to exhaustion, they can’t be when they’ve lived a large part of their lives getting to sleep at night only _because_ of it.

From the time they were old enough to run, they were old enough to hold a gun and chase something down. They know how to sleep anywhere that locks, even if it’s just the backseat of a car, a crooked neck having been a common accessory since they were kids. They know how to keep each other awake through concussions and how pain can get so bad it’ll keep you up at night. Then they learned why so many people drink themselves to sleep and what it feels like to be too terrified to even blackout. Tired usually just doesn’t cover it for the Winchester boys; tired doesn’t reach deep enough.

Which is why anytime they wake up feeling well rested, it’s like the goddamn Second Coming.

Dean wakes up warm and stretched out, with only the barest remains of bruises on his body from a rough night about a week ago.

Through the walls of the bunker, he can hear that soft-pop garbage that Sam listens to when he’s in a good mood and he huffs fondly. Though waking up _after_ eight in the morning does not a cushy life make, he can’t help thinking he’s going soft. Even just last year, he would’ve been up _way_ before Sam could commandeer the radio, replacing the engine in a car or something just as non-time-sensitive-but-lets-do-it-at-6am-anyway. If it weren’t for the calluses on his hands, the gun taped under the bed, and his never ending desire to fight any evil son of a bitch that makes itself known, he’d think he was ruined for the hunting life.

Even so, he recognizes that he is feeling a little wobbly today for some reason. Even though he was perfectly content to go to bed unaccompanied last night – a guy’s gotta have some time to himself every now and again – he feels… very alone. Normally, he feels well enough just knowing Sam and Castiel are in the bunker, just within sprinting distance of him. But this morning, he feels like his stomach is getting tight just because he doesn’t have eyes on either of them. There’s a brief moment when he means to lie there and fight off that feeling, forcing himself to ignore something so stupid. Then he thinks he’s got two perfectly good lovers he could go bother until everyone’s having a good time. He is already thinking about riding Sam about his shitty music tastes (or riding him literally, if he plays his cards right) by the time he gets his feet under him and heads for the main room.

But when he gets an eyeful of Sam on the couch, his whole brain goes oddly blank. Quiet.

Sam looks so… _warm._

He’s sitting on the couch in his ratty pajamas, listening to that stupid top forties list like he has dozens of mornings before, but today it’s _everything_. The lamp over Sam’s shoulder is all soft yellow lighting and the line of concentration in his forehead as he reads a book – for _fun,_ the nerd – makes Dean’s chest clench with love. Sam’s hair is a mess, but he looks so content, he actually looks _rested_ and Dean wants the warmth of this moment to carry on forever and always; it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. For the first time he can actively remember, he wants to climb into somebody’s lap; it suddenly _hurts_ him to remember the last time he was just _in_ Sam’s lap, not going anywhere, not doing anything. He was dying and that is a travesty, nothing this priceless ever deserves to have blood on it.

He doesn’t even realize how long he’s been staring until Sam catches him, smiling questioningly. “Good morning?”

“Are you busy right now?” Dean blurts out, but his voice catches, causing Sam’s face to fall.

“Not really,” he answers, the book in his hands sagging towards his lap. “Is something wrong?”

Dean shakes his head, but it’s clear Sam doesn’t believe him by the way he sits up properly, putting his book aside. “Nightmares?”

 “No, I slept great actually. Just…” He looks away, feeling oddly small. “Can I sit on you?”

Sam blinks. “Sit on me?” he asks, but his voice is confused not mocking, so Dean is able to fight the urge to run and hide under his bed.

 “The last time you just held me – not like when we’re sleeping or fooling around – like just _held_ me, I was dying—dead,” he corrects with a cringe, “I was dead and…” He shuffles on his feet, nervously wiping his hands on his pajama pants. “I don’t want that to be what I associate with being held. And today I feel really, _really_ good so even though it’s _stupid_ , I—”

“Dean,” Sam cuts him off quietly, waiting until Dean looks at him before continuing. He sinks back into the cushions and holds out his arms. “You never even have to ask me for something like that.”

The relief Dean feels is overwhelming and nearly sends him to his knees, crawling to Sam’s embrace. He barely catches himself as he staggers over to the couch, arms out like a lost child just found. He lets Sam catch him by the hands and pull him down until he is curled on his side, his face pressed against Sam’s throat and Sam’s arms around him. He sighs and holds on, feeling an unseen tension bleeding from his body. This is exactly as wonderful as he’d thought it would be.

“Good?” Sam asks softly, stroking a hand up and down Dean’s arm.

“ _Mm_ ,” is what Dean says in response, eyes going unfocused. He feels safe here, feels the distinct lack of a need to pay attention to anything. Sam has got him, Sammy’s got him. After a few moments, it feels like the world outside Sam’s arms has started to peel away. The only thing that keeps him near the surface of that deep, warm bliss is the idea that Castiel is out there without them. Castiel needs to be in this bubble too, warm and safe with him and Sam.

No sooner does he have that thought is he startled by the closing of a distant door. He starts to get up, but Sam holds fast, shushing him. “Hush, Dee, relax. It’s _Cas_ ,” he says, which embarrasses Dean. Whether because he’s embarrassed by his own reaction or the gentleness in Sam’s tone, he’s not sure.

“Not a baby,” he mutters at which Sam snorts. He lets Dean twist out of his grip slightly, to see when Castiel enters the room, still sleep ruffled and darling. “Mornin’, angel.”

Castiel pauses when he sees them, the intimacy of their position. “Oh…” he says, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sam smiles at him. “Not interrupting, Cas.”

“Oh,” he says again, then relaxes marginally, yawning and rubbing at his eye. “Then can I cuddle too?”

“It’s not cuddling,” Dean shoots at the same time Sam huffs out a laugh, “Of course.”

After a bit of a shuffle, Castiel climbs over Dean so he’s squished between Dean’s lower body and the back of the couch, the top of his head just meeting Sam’s hip. Dean huffs out a surprised little laugh when Castiel presses his face into his stomach.

The radio drones on in the background, but Dean is more interested in the easy sound of their breathing. He can tell Castiel is on the edge of sleep, but Sam is just resting, the kind of deep breathing he does when he tries to convince Dean to sit and meditate with him. Though there was a part of him that was conceited enough to wonder if Sam could find “Zen” or some shit with them near him like this, he also has the thought that Sam should be singing to them. “ _My youth, my youth is yours_ ,” says the man on the radio and Dean can imagine it in Sam’s voice he as sooths them to sleep.

The thought startles him so bad, seems so out of character even to himself, that he doesn’t chase it. But then Sam starts to hum along and Dean’s eyes start to sting. He thinks this is the youngest he’s ever felt and something about that makes him bubble inside.

He finds himself so zoned out, he doesn’t even feel the same heat of irritation when the song ends and the commercials break into Sam’s melody. “I like this,” he admits quietly, closing his eyes when Sam kisses the top of his head.

“You like cuddling,” Castiel murmurs, only laughing when Dean gently knees him. “I won’t tell.”

Dean only grumbles in response, but Sam laughs, too, carefully sliding out from behind them. Dean and Castiel are left to doze, sharing soft kisses on the couch until the smell of bacon becomes too enticing to ignore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Psst, pardon me. The song Dean hears in the previous chapter is Youth by Troye Sivan.

Dean feels stupid in the privacy of his own bedroom, which is _stupid_.

It should be impossible to be embarrassed in a room by himself, but here he is, is laptop on his stomach and face unusually warm. He thinks he wouldn’t even be so embarrassed if he were jerking off, watching bad free porn to rub one out so he could relax and go to sleep. _That_ was what grown men got flushed over at night.

But Dean Winchester, in his thirties at two in the morning, is not feeling very much like a grown man.  It is an odd thought to have, but that was the best way he could think to describe the sensation. A few days ago, Dean had been sure that he had never felt younger than when he was laying in Sam’s lap with Castiel pressed – _cuddled,_ ok, fine, cuddled up against him. He had also been certain he would never feel that way again, until he woke up in the middle of the night from a dream about Sam singing and rocking him to sleep that almost made him want to cry.

Now, bathed only in the light of a laptop, Dean’s got one hand flirting with pressing into his mouth and the other pecking slowly across the keys. Part of him wants to imagine Sam is behind him instead of just the headboard and that Castiel is against his side instead of the blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, but thinking too long on that makes his chest hurt.

He isn’t quite sure what made him think to get on google, but—well. No. That’s not quite true.

Dean knows exactly what he wants, but there is no way he is going to walk up to Sam and ask to be treated like a child. He _hates_ being babied, hated it even when he was a child. Just the thought of being talked down to makes him want to say something sharp. Even just thinking about what has happened to the word “ _daddy_ ” makes him want to cringe. But he thinks… he thinks if it was Sam, it might feel ok. He thinks of Sam, who’s grown up into such a wonderful and strong man, who wants nothing more than to keep Dean and Castiel safe. He thinks of his lap and feeling warm and loved and like the safest little boy in the whole world.

Anger abruptly chases away any shame he feels. He spends his day to day life hunting monsters, sometimes even _fist fighting_ the stuff of nightmares. He’s died and gone to hell and come back; his life is _goddamn hard_ and if google searching soft fabrics lets him sleep easier, he’s gonna fucking _do it_. And so he thinks of everything a sleepy little kid could want and looks them up. He sees blankets and stuffed animals, he sees websites that sell animal shaped sleeping bags for adults and another that sells footed onesies for adults. Anything that makes him feel particularly soft inside, he saves for easy access later (in a folder labeled _YouBoob_ , because that’s the kind of website Dean Winchester would have saved).

Tonight, he gets up to about twenty new pictures before he sees a video in the mix, with a caption that makes him pause. “ _Daddy got me a special music bear today,_ ” the text reads beneath a man, curled up in his pajamas with a pacifier in his mouth. Dean hunkers down to match his position, curled under his covers, before pressing play. The grainy cellphone footage shows the man – username just _Boy_ – press the bear’s paw, before hugging it close as it starts to play _Teddy Bears’ Picnic._ It plays for about a minute, until the music stops and Boy snuggles happily into the bear’s fur. Dean’s half asleep and closing his laptop, so he nearly misses it when a voice comes out of it’s speaker, “ _Daddy loves you, baby boy._ ” Dean pauses, throat tight, as he closes the laptop and sits it aside.

Dean imagines it as Sam’s voice, over and over.

_Sammy loves you, baby boy._

_Sammy loves you, baby boy._

_Sammy loves you, baby boy._

Dean falls asleep.

//

Dean is doing fine during the day by just not thinking about how he goes to sleep, until one day after lunch, Sam calls him into the main room. He enters to find Castiel laying with his head on Sam’s lap, Sam looking down lovingly and playing with his hair.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, feeling moved to see something so sweet and oddly accused even though nobody has said anything to him yet.

“Tense much?” Sam’s face crinkles in amusement at Dean’s tone. He reaches over to the side table to pick up a book, shaking it to show it was harmless. “I got a new book.”

“Congrats, Poindexter,” Dean replies.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Sam snaps instantly, but neither his relaxed position nor the amusement in his eyes changes in the slightest. “I’m gonna read it aloud, do you want to listen?” he asks and Dean feels a weird flutter in his chest.

His gut instinct is to drop to the floor between Sam’s feet and rest his head on Sam’s knee. He thinks Sam probably wouldn’t even give him too much grief about it, but there’s just something about it that seems too… juvenile. And not in the way Sam is used to seeing out of him. He’s Sam’s big brother; even on the days he allows himself to be comforted, he can’t forget that. There is a context to his letting them see him weak. And if Sam hasn’t pushed him down, he’s not going.

He looks to Castiel. “You got roped into this?”

Castiel makes a petulant face. “He didn’t have to rope me.”

Dean isn’t sure if Castiel means that literally or if he’s stretching that analogy just to be funny, but either way, he rolls his eyes and decides it’s not worth the fight. When Sam holds out his hand, he takes it and sits down beside him, keeping his hand on his brother’s thigh as he reads.

It takes them a week or so to get through the whole book. But it seems like each time, Dean goes somewhere even further away than Hogwarts as Sam’s voice washed over them, recounting the tales of The Boy Who Lived.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, I believe they only have one laptop, but there’s two here? They won a door buster or something! Lucky boys! I hope that luck passes to you!

There is a month or so of case after shitty case before they have the time to so much as draw in a collective breath and Dean is itching out of his own skin.

The fact that Sam had fucked him raw while Castiel rode his face the night before certainly has done a great deal to improve his mood, but it isn’t until the next day – when they can stand to be away from each other – that Dean takes a moment every so often to shift through more soft pictures on the internet. He’s still a little wired, but every time he adds a new blanket or stuffie to his folder or watches a video of someone like him – a _little_ like him, pun intended – he feels himself go quiet. Not as at peace as that first morning with Sam and Castiel, but enough to get through the day.

That is, until he walks into his room to see Castiel seated at his computer.

“ _Cas!!_ ” Dean half shouts, causing the man to jump. Smothering his voice to a frantic hiss and closing the door behind him, he quickly stalks over, “What are you doing!?”

Castiel turns to him in confusion. “You said I could use the computer.”

“I meant _Sam’s_! Not—” his voice breaks off in horror when he realizes what’s on the screen. Castiel blinks at him when he freezes, turning to look back at what looks like a perfectly innocuous bedroom set with pond print blankets and a stuffed ducky on a tab he clearly _restored_ instead of just opening a new one, they’ve _talked_ about this…

He looks concerned when he turns to meet Dean’s eyes again and Dean won’t look at him. “Were you afraid I’d see _this_?” he asks and the genuine confusion in his eyes makes Dean feel guilty.

“No, because I didn’t think you’d go _snooping_ ,” Dean replies tetchily.

Castiel turns back to the screen, searching for something he clearly isn’t finding. “Dean, it’s not even vulgar, it’s just… _cute_ ,” he decides on. Then his eyes narrow a fraction, “Oh. Unless you—”

“Unless nothing,” Dean cuts him off, flushed. Sure, he’s felt himself up thinking about what he could get up to in a blanket fort, occasionally, usually when he’s half delirious with some dream or another. But that’s sure as shit not a line he’s going to cross in the cold light of day. “It’s… just stupid,”

“Why is it bookmarked if it’s stupid?” Castiel says in that blunt way of his, his curiosity now turned on Dean.

Dean’s skin prickles under the scrutiny, he can feel himself going hot about the cheeks. “Look, would you just—” He reaches for the mouse, but Castiel catches his hand.

“Dean…” Castiel begins hesitantly. “These things, are they for… someone else?”

A laugh almost escapes Dean, but he chokes it when he realizes what that pause implies. Castiel thinks the baby stuff is for an actual baby, which – what, with all the secrecy – would imply there’s someone with a _baby_ that Dean is hiding—

“No,” Dean kisses him right on the wrinkle in his forehead until it smooths out. “ _No_ , Cas, it’s mine, it just…” He shuffles backwards and scratches at his jaw. “It helps me sleep, ok? Can we please leave it at that?”

“The pictures?”

“Yes,” Dean responds tightly, holding still as Castiel searches his face. The fact that all Castiel says in response is “Huh!” concerns him more than he would like to admit.

“What do you mean ‘ _huh_ ’?” Dean says instantly. “‘ _Huh_ ’ what?”

Castiel looks a little longingly at the screen. “I suppose they are comforting,” he says mostly to himself, apparently. His eyes are a little far away, head tipped to the side with thought, but his face goes flat when he registers the tension all over Dean. “I can go ask Sam for his laptop if—”

“Little late now,” Dean sighs, wincing when Castiel looks chastised. “Sorry. Look, here.” He leans over Castiel’s shoulder to take the mouse, finally closing the window and opening up a fresh browser. “Google’s right here and youtube is…” he cuts off when Castiel turns to kiss the underside of his chin.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, looking up at him fondly. “I think I got it.”

“Right…” Dean always gets a little distracted when Castiel looks at him like that, and he has to shake himself to remember to speak. “And uh. Cas? Let’s… let’s not talk about this again, ok?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “The _blankets_?”

Dean blushes again. “Yes, that. No more, ok?” he says backing out of the room, “This conversation never happened.” He slides out of the door so quickly he hardly hears Castiel’s bemused, “Sure, Dean” before he heads down the hallway to find something to make himself look busy.

//

Dean is walking towards the kitchen when Sam intersects him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Busy?” he asks, leaning to peck Dean on the cheek.

“I could be distracted?” Dean offers, smirking. He is a little tired, a little hungry, but there is no snack that couldn’t wait until after he’s had a good time with his favorite giant. He snakes his arm around Sam’s waist, leaning into him. “What’s up?” his smile only widens when he sees Castiel sprawled out on the couch, “ _Who’s_ up?”

“Not me,” Castiel says, though he smiles back sleepily as he sits up.

Sam kisses Dean’s cheek again. “You like it when I read to you, right?” he asks, not letting go even when Dean tenses up.

“So?” Dean snaps, searching Castiel’s face for hits of betrayal and finding nothing but mild anticipation.

Sam completely ignores the attitude. “Come on,” he says, patting Dean’s hip before crossing to Castiel on the couch. “It’s story time.”

Dean winces, stomach fluttering with happy, alarmed butterflies. “Don’t call it that.”

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Castiel says, the end of his sentence muffled when Sam drops onto the couch and kisses Castiel softly.

“Yeah, Cas,” Sam answers, picking up an intimidatingly large book from the table.

Dean raises his brows. “Is that a textbook? I’m not listening to you explain mitosis.”

Sam laughs brightly and Dean feels himself calming down in spite of his nerves, “No, would you just sit down?”

The joy in his face when he looks at Dean could undo all the evil in the world if they could just figure out how to weaponize it. However, in that moment, it’s enough to make Dean sigh and sink into the couch beside Sam. “What are we reading?”

“ _Wonderstruck,_ ” Sam answers and Dean’s eyebrows skyrocket when he opens to the first page.

“A picture book?” he demands, very nearly jumping back to his feet. “Are you _serious_?”

Sam tugs him down. “I’m _relaxing_ ,” he says, rubbing at the tension in Dean’s thigh. “Take a hint, Dean.”

At first, Dean does no such thing, sitting with his jaw clenched defiantly as Sam flips through the pictures before finally getting to the first worded chapter. But eventually, he finds himself getting invested in the story, the warm timbre of Sam’s voice and Castiel’s occasional thoughtful hum lulling him further into the book and away from the real world. He stares at the pictures, the artistry of them, for a lot longer than is strictly necessary, but Sam neither complains nor rushes, smiling when Castiel finds one picture so enthralling he stops to run his finger over it.

In fact, Sam only stops when his voice starts to give out, but chuckles to find that his listeners have fallen asleep with their heads on his shoulders anyway. He flips back a few pages before marking his spot and allows himself a few moments to just sit, nestled between the warmth of his two favorite people.

This is definitely a feeling he could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick is a wonderful book, for people of all ages and also a relatively quick read! I absolutely would recommend!


	4. Chapter 4

Movie nights only became a common occurrence at Castiel’s insistence, but neither of the Winchester brothers are particularly inclined to complain about it. Dean feels sitting around with his guys – all in their pajamas and downing popcorn and beer – is one of the best ways to end the night. Especially if he gets laid in the process, under the dim glow of the screensaver in the main room where their moans echo in a way they don’t in the bedrooms.

So when Dean walks in, damp and lightly oiled from working with the cars all day, and Sam unfolds himself from a book long enough to declare it movie night, Dean doesn’t so much as hesitate to agree. He doesn’t even complain when Sam demands he shower first after getting a whiff of him.

When he gets out of the shower to find Castiel sitting on his bed looking sheepish and small in his borrowed (see: pilfered) pajamas, an endearing look to be sure, he smiles. It turns into a full-blown smirk when Castiel goes pink, eyes automatically tracking a stray drop of water as it rolls down his chest. “Enjoying the view?” he asks, hooking his thumbs on the towel around his waist.

“Yes,” Castiel croaks, then clears his throat looking away. Dean notices what he has dubbed the ‘Words Are Hard’ Quirk cross Castiel’s lips and he frowns. He joins him on the bed, towel carefully still in place even as he shifts close to put a hand on Castiel’s knee.

“Everything ok?” he asks.

Castiel nods, giving him a smile that is just nervous, not stressed, at least. “I was thinking.”

“Ok?” Dean responds, arching an eyebrow. “About what?”

Castiel bites his lip. “Don’t get mad.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Dean groans, putting his head in his hands. There aren’t actually many things that Castiel could be about to say with that earnestness in his eyes that would make Dean angry, but that sentence is enough to send him headed towards a tizzy.

“I said don’t get mad!”

“Saying that is not a good way to—never mind,” Dean cuts himself off, bracing himself and staring Castiel down. “What’d you do?”

Castiel waffles with his words before blurting out. “You…like cars.”

Dean’s confusion overrides his irritation for a moment. “Uh, yeah? Not a secret, Cas.”

“Right, I just…” Castiel wiped his hands nervously on his pants. “I got you nighties.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

Castiel’s blush deepened a little as did the crinkle in his brow. “I noticed you seem to favor fuzzy things when—” he stops when Dean is suddenly on his feet.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about that!” he whispers angrily, embarrassed. Castiel is not mean, but he _is_ mostly human; he is not above teasing anymore. The thought crosses Dean’s mind that he’s being teased and he feels sick, unsure if anger or pain is rolling in his chest right now, but whatever it is, he doesn’t like it a single shit. His face is hot and he’s shaking.

“I’m not!” Castiel exclaims quickly, jumping up as well. “We’re not, we don’t have to, I just… here.” His face falls and he turns away to pull the pajamas out from where he’d stuffed them under Dean’s pillows. He offers them to Dean without looking, voice small and face pink when he says, “I thought they were cute.”

Dean feels a little wave of shame come over him for jumping the gun. Castiel might not always _get it_ , but he is almost always painfully kind without even trying. He hadn’t got this for Dean to be funny, not even in a lovingly teasing sort of way, he’d gotten it because he’d thought it would make Dean happy, _comfort_ him. He is doing this to be genuinely sweet and Dean’s heart aches even through his embarrassment.

He looks down at the checkered flags and the bright red stock cars smiling up at him from the fuzzy pants and the matching button-down top. He runs his thumb through the fuzz, getting goosebumps from the sensation; he can hardly imagine sleeping in them.

_Fuck_ , he wants to sleep in them.

“Cute, huh?” he comments and something in his voice makes Castiel look up hopefully. Dean tweaks Castiel’s cheek with a half-smile before he unties the ribbon holding the set together. He shakes them out and lays them on the bed, shaking his head. “Have you ever even seen this movie?” he asks, crossing to his dresser.

“It’s a movie?” Castiel responds and Dean laughs as he pulls up his boxers.

When they enter the projection room, – Castiel pulling Dean along behind him, because his nerves are still a little bugged – Sam chuckles as they come into view, smirking when Dean goes pink. “Cute,” he says, nodding at Dean’s outfit.

“They were a gift!” Dean defends, but he rubs his sleeve a little self-consciously.

“I was serious!” Sam says, handing him a beer. “They’re very Disney Channel-esque.” He only smiles when Dean jabs him in the side, leaning in to kiss him. “What are we watching?”

“ _Cars_ ,” Castiel answers, already pulling up the stream.

By the time the credits start to roll, Dean is full of popcorn and slightly buzzed and feeling pretty damn good. He starts feeling even better when Castiel tugs him onto the floor and Sam crawls over them. Sam who is so big and tall and has arms and legs for days that Dean and Castiel press into and pull on, a flurry of hands everywhere leaving Dean whining and writhing. His breath shutters out when Sam touches him through his pants, finding and biting gently on his nipple through his shirt.

“You’re being so sweet tonight,” Sam rumbles, when Dean whimpers into Castiel’s mouth at the sensation.

Dean can’t really form an intelligent response to that, but Sam seems plenty satisfied with the sounds of their moans echoing off the walls.

//

They are model cars, not toys.

Just because he’s not an _asshole_ about putting them on the ground to play with on occasion – since they were only like five bucks at the gas station – doesn’t mean they’re _toys_. They are completely accurate models and totally acceptable for junior collectors without a lot of cash. Did he buy them with the intent to collect or trade them? Well, no, not really, he bought the first one on an impulse because it reminded him of Cas’ car and the second because you can’t just race one car. And the third and fourth because they looked like the new editions of the toys Sam had as a kid, but is that anyone’s business? No, thank you very much, it’s not.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dean asks from where he’s lying on the floor, sending his cars – of which there are about a half-dozen now – flying back and forth between his outstretched hands. Castiel has been leaning over the back of the couch, watching him silently for some time now. The fact that Sam has now twisted around from his laptop to watch too is a little more than Dean’s nerves can take.

Castiel’s head tips to one side, his cheek resting on his arm. “This seems appropriate.”

“What does?”

“You already have your dream car,” Castiel explains, then motions down at the little cars scattered about in front of Dean. “It seems only natural your midlife crisis would manifest in a different way.”

It takes a moment for the words to register on either brother, but then Sam is laughing as Dean twists to stare up at them, infuriated. “I am not having a midlife _crisis_!” he exclaims, “I’m not even in my _forties_ yet!”

“Yeah, not exactly. I mean, this isn’t really a _crisis_ ,” Sam agrees, but his face is too thoughtful for Dean’s liking. “But anyone who didn’t get a happy childhood should be able to take some of it back as an adult. Especially if it’s just playing with toy cars as opposed to… creeping on young girls, or something.”

Dean feels cold all over; the little stuff saved to his computer, his cars, his fuzzy pajamas all falling into a very different light, one he hates so much it scares him. It sounds _sick_ and it makes him feel sick and abruptly he’s on his feet and shouting. “Fuck off! I’m not some old hick chasing teenagers so I can have one more shot at youth! Once you’re an adult, you don’t get to decide to stop! You don’t get to fuck up your family’s lives just to feel like a kid again!!” He’s shocked by the vehemence in his voice, but more so by the creaking sadness, the shame.

Castiel and Sam, for their part, looked shocked, too.

“You think buying toy cars is going to fuck up our lives?” Castiel asks, and as was becoming more frequent, Dean can’t tell if his obliviousness was unintentional or merciful. Judging by the concerned shock in Sam’s eyes, it is the latter.

Dean blows out a breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Then I was right,” Castiel cuts him off, he comes around the back of the couch. Dean doesn’t realize he’s clenching a car in his fist until Castiel takes his hand and pries it out. Castiel smiles at the little muscle car, then says softly, “This _is_ appropriate.”

“Cas…” Dean starts, but then Castiel drops down to the floor across from him.

“Play with me,” he says, then sends a car bouncing back off Dean’s foot.

Sam crosses his arms across the back of the sofa. “Tell me about the cars,” he says, still concerned, but looking on with that patient amusement he saves for when Dean was being silly and didn’t know it yet.

Dean wants to pick that look apart, but he still feels too shaky on his feet. He sits down and picks up the cream colored hooptie. “This one should be self-explanatory…” he starts, and for every story, sends them sailing across the floor to Castiel. Eventually, Sam starts to commentate around his own laughter, watching as Dean and Castiel try to fling the cars past each other, diving animatedly to catch them before they careen out of reach.

All in all, it is a very good day.

And later, when Dean finds five new toy cars – including a tiny black ’67 Chevy impala – stacked on his desk, he puts his head in his hands for a long time and definitely does not cry.


	5. Chapter 5

If Dean wasn’t sure he’d get smote out of existence for trying, he’d find a way to follow Castiel up to Heaven just to punch every angel up there. Castiel had said a while ago that he’s effectively become the family mediator in addition to his role of placating the holy and righteous in regards to the state of humanity. All well and good, except for how each time he comes home – and it _is_ coming home – looking drained and strung out.

Neither of the brothers like it, but Dean is more vocal about not wanting him to go. Every time, Castiel just gives him the same sad smile and kisses him quiet. “I’ll be back,” he says, “Always.” It sounds enough like a promise that Dean’s skin crawls, but Castiel _does_ always come back. So like it or not, he clenches his jaw and acts like a grownup about it.

But he wants to throw a tantrum when, standing in line at the gas station, he gets a text from Sam that just says, “ _cas back_ ” followed by “ _get home_ ,” with none of the usual corrected grammar or punctuation. Dean’s stomach drops and he practically brains the cashier with his money in his rush to get to the door. The impala is screaming hot by the time he gets back to the bunker, charging down the stairs. “Cas!?”

“In here,” Sam calls from the main room and Dean doesn’t care how silly he looks running, especially when he realizes he can hear Castiel crying.

Sam is sitting on the couch looking pained and like he’s starting to sympathize with Dean’s mission to start a fist fight in Heaven. He’s got Castiel – weeping softly with his fingers shoved in his mouth – curled up in his lap as he rocks him gently back and forth. He just shakes his head at the question in Dean’s eyes, holding more protectively onto their angel.

“Hey, hey,” Dean comes over and perches on the available edge of the couch, putting his hand on Castiel’s back. “Rough day, baby?” he asks and the eyes that turn to him – pink and wet and innocent enough to stop hearts – could kill him.

Castiel just nods, pulling his fingers from his mouth.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Castiel’s mouth twitches towards a frown, tears spilling down his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“Ok. You probably did enough damn talking Upstairs, huh?” Dean says, stroking Castiel’s cheek when he breathes out, not quite a laugh, but given the state of his face, it’ll have to suffice. Dean wants so badly to make this better, but he doesn’t even know what to do. His eyes cut to Sam on pure instinct.

Sam’s eyes cloud over with thought for just a moment before he takes a breath and leans to kiss Castiel’s face. “Cas, I’m gonna pass you to Dean for a second, ok?”

Castiel nods agreeably, sitting upright with a sniff. He doesn’t have to wait more than a moment for Dean to curl around him, tugging Castiel’s blotchy face into his chest as they lay on the couch. Dean only hums when Sam pats his shoulder as he walks away, trusting him to take care of it.

Absently, he hears Sam pattering around the bunker, but can’t make himself pay attention to what those noises could mean. He focuses on nuzzling into Castiel’s hair, comfortingly stroking up and down his back. “Can I punch it better?” he asks jokingly and this time the huff he gets is closer to a laugh. Castiel shakes his head, gripping Dean’s shirt in his fist.

“No punching,” Sam calls as he approaches, but he’s smiling. He’s also in his lazy day clothes – sweat pants and a tattered old Stanford shirt; a look both Dean and Castiel are particularly fond of. “Come on, guys.” He motions for them to stand, automatically falling into step on the other side of Castiel, holding his hand while Dean keeps an arm around his shoulders.

Dean realizes they’re heading for the bathroom pretty quickly, but he and Castiel still come to a standstill when they reach the doorway. The tub is full of bubbles and the room is bathed in the soft yellow of the warming lights instead of the fluorescents. It smells sweet, almost like honey, and Dean turns to see a candle burning on the side of the sink. He has the odd thought that this is exactly what he would imagine the inside of a human beehive to feel like, before thinking that his brother is quite possibly the greatest man alive. The pleased glint in his eyes implies that he might just agree right now.

“Clothes off,” he says to Dean, reaching to start on Castiel’s buttons himself.

Dean blinks at the direct command, skin prickling as he ignores the urge to be contrary just for the sake of being contrary. It annoys him how much he likes listening to Sam when he gets Like This (though he can’t exactly define what “Like This” means). “Little small, isn’t it?” he hedges, but he’s already undoing his pants.

Sam waves his hands dismissively. “Get in the tub, Dee,” he says, then kisses Castiel’s forehead like he can’t help himself, Castiel leaning approvingly into the touch.

Dean chews his lip, hoping the flush on his cheeks isn’t too noticeable. The air is pleasantly warm as he stands naked and shucks his clothes into the hamper and the water is pleasantly hot as he sinks into it with a slight groan. He can’t remember the last time he had a bubble bath and he has to fight the impulse to play with the bubbles. He smiles, opening his arms when Sam leads Castiel to the tub. It _is_ a bit of a tight fit, but after some finagling – in which Dean narrowly avoids getting his dick crushed – they slot together as well as they always do.

They spend a moment just lounging there quietly, Sam seated on the rug beside the tub, resting his chin on his arm and stirring the water slightly. Then he grabs a sponge and starts to squeeze water down Castiel’s chest and arms, eventually dampening his hair as well. He coos soothingly when Castiel grumbles softly at being pulled away from Dean, continuing to wash him down.

Dean starts to follow suit washing himself, but before he can start on his hair, Sam catches his hand. He looks a little awkward, but still manages to force out, “I’ll do it.”

There’s something unwavering, yet somehow still vulnerable, in his voice that tells Dean not to tease. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he rests his hands on Castiel’s sides, distractedly drawing patterns on his sides until he jerks with suppressed laughter. Dean continues to do so until Castiel lobs a handful of water over his shoulder and Sam pinches both their arms.

“You’re gonna make a mess!” he exclaims, frazzled but amused. “Be still, we’re almost done…”

Nobody seems too pleased about that, but the water wil only stay warm for so long. Sam gets them rinsed off before wrapping them in towels. Dean is feeling a little floaty and odd as he dries himself off, feeling the impulse to curl into Sam’s arms. The urge is so strong, in fact, he honestly feels a little scared because Sam – in his soft clothes with that content look on his face – is _not_ hugging him. When he looks over and sees the lost way he feels written all over Castiel’s face, his discomfort eases; at least it isn’t just him. When Castiel’s eyes catch his, they very nearly move as one slightly damp, clinging entity to latch onto Sam.

Sam startles only very slightly before chuckling and closing his arms around them. “Ok, ok,” he says, getting a hand behind both their heads as he just _breathes them in_ and Dean feels _astoundingly_ safe. The fluttering in his chest won’t stop, but it is gentler by the time Sam steps back, running his fingers through their hair as he does. “Get dressed. I’m calling for pizza.”

“And honey bites,” Castiel mumbles, rubbing self-consciously at his nose with the hand not fisted in Sam’s shirt. The sound of his voice settles something in Dean he hadn’t realized was upset; the actual words, just make him grin.

The local pizza joint _seriously_ oversold their honey-drizzled left-over-dough nuggets, but Castiel loves them regardless. Dean had once said that Castiel would probably put anything in his mouth if it was covered in enough honey and Castiel had blushed (for reasons Sam would tell him about later), but had not argued. Even now, there’s a flush returning to his cheeks.

Sam, too, is practically glowing with affection as he kisses Castiel’s nose. “And honey bites,” he promises.

He holds the door open for them, touching them both before he turns to head towards the main room to find his phone. Castiel and Dean watch him go for a moment, before Dean reaches out to take Castiel’s hand. He’s not normally big on hand holding, but for some reason he doesn’t feel right without the security of someone else’s skin on his. He figures he should try to analyze that, but loses the thought as soon as Castiel turns a thankful gaze up to him.

Dean’s room is up first and even though Castiel is wrapped just in a towel, and probably a little cold, he follows him inside instead of going to his own room. The look on his face is tranquil now, a blessed improvement from earlier, as he sits down on the bed. Dean gets butterflies just looking at him and gently presses their lips together. “I’ll dress quick, ok?” he says, unsure of why either of them want that assurance today, but deeply aware that they do. Castiel’s mouth quirks towards a smile and that’s enough to allow Dean to turn away. He’s just stepped into his briefs and started to pull out his pajamas when Castiel speaks.

“Dee?” he says and Dean stops on a dime, the heartbreakingly soft way Castiel says his nickname hitting him in all the right places. He huffs out a laugh when he sees that Castiel has pulled Dean’s abandoned towel over his head.

Dean picks up the edge of the towel so he can see Castiel’s eyes. “Yeah, babe?” he says, hands automatically going to Castiel’s head when he hides his face in Dean’s side.

 “You can tell me no, ok?”

“What if I don’t wanna?” Dean touches his cheek until Castiel tips his head back to meet his gaze. “You gotta ask me the question first.”

Castiel is pouting a little, but he looks away only briefly, eyeing the drawer Dean had just opened. “Can I wear your pajamas?” he asks haltingly.

“The Cars ones?” Dean asks, because Castiel has never once looked so uncomfortable to ask them to share their clothes. The brothers love when Castiel is practically floating in their too big shirts, a rare kind of possessiveness being satiated in a benign way. The only reason Castiel would shift like that is if he truly felt he were asking something out of bounds, a feeling Dean does not understand.

“You can say no,” Castiel repeats quickly.

“I’m not,” Dean assuages, sitting down next to him. “I’m trying to figure out why you look like I’m gonna spank you for asking.” That has the desired effect and Castiel’s face shifts towards amusement.

“I like soft things,” he whispers after a moment, “the same way I think you like toy— _model_ cars.”

Dean doesn’t comment on the slip the same way Castiel doesn’t comment on the sudden pink on his cheeks. “How so?”

Castiel takes his hand, playing with his fingers as he often does when both affectionate and nervous at the same time. “It isn’t about trying to be a kid again. It’s true, we…” he lifts his eyes to Dean, the sad aura that had been suffocating earlier coming back slightly, “for different reasons, neither of us really had a ‘childhood’, not exactly.”

Dean presses his lips together and doesn’t comment. He _knows_ his childhood was entirely too brief, forced to grow up and be John Winchester’s brave little soldier when he should’ve been studying for pop quizzes and trying out for the football team; _he knows_. But he shut the mental gate to that minefield for a reason and he’s not interested in opening it now. It’s too late to change any of that, and he can’t imagine his life if he’d grown up any differently. He also can’t imagine what it would’ve been like for Castiel to be _born_ as a soldier in Heaven’s army. He doesn’t know what to say.

Castiel saves him by continuing, “But it’s not about that, I’m not chasing something behind me, I’m just…” He shakes his head when his eyes water, “I’m trying to be nice to what’s already _here._ ” He draws in a breath, “How often did you get to just lay on the floor and _play_ with your toys _?_ ”

“Not often,” Dean says, thinking of the rare occasions when Bobby _made_ them relax, before forcing the memories away. Dean did not really have toys growing up. Sam only occasionally had toys because Dean scraped to get them for him; that was the least he could do, and it didn’t leave room for self-indulgence.

“And how often did someone hold your hand? Or buy you silly pajamas?” Castiel laughs, though it’s a wet sound. “Or cuddle with you just because, or comfort you when you cried?” He takes Dean by the face, and kisses him, “Or looked you dead in your eyes and told you that you were special and loved?”

Dean feels his throat getting tight and has to swallow before he can speak. “Not often,” he says again, though the answer to some of that is not at all and Castiel knows it.

“When did you stop wanting it?”

The question catches him off guard, but he imagines that was Castiel’s whole point. Dean aches to just hug him close, make him _stop talking._ These words are creeping too close to something deep inside him that he isn’t trying to touch, not in front of someone else, not bathed in anything but the glow of his laptop at 3am. He is grateful when Castiel looks away first, turning his gaze down to where he’s entwined their hands.

“Being an adult doesn’t—or _shouldn’t_ mean that we have to give up all desire to be coddled sometimes,” he shrugs. “It seems to mean learning to protect yourself from people who should love you and care for you but don’t,” he says, then smiles shyly up at Dean. “And I think we don’t have to worry have that here.”

Dean’s face pinches, sharp protectiveness and deep love making him squeeze Castiel’s hands. “We don’t, Cas,” he says, kissing his fingers.

Castiel nods. “When I’m with you and Sam, sometimes all I can think about is how good you are to me. And how safe and loved I feel and how that makes me want to _be_ _good_ for you. To be this,” he flushes, “this sweet, little thing around you, because I trust neither of you to hurt me. And that softness, that open _trust_ is a feeling I associate with children, so… it makes sense that we would want kid stuff. Because they’re _things_ that don’t have to _do_ anything, but can still make you can feel like that, like…”

Dean isn’t sure if it’s the blank look on his own face or Castiel’s awareness that he’s started blathering, but either way, his mouth suddenly snaps shut and he winces. “Is that weird?”

_It’s beautiful_ , is the first thought Dean has. The idea that Sam and Dean can foster such a wonderful feeling in someone they love so much strikes a chord in him that leaves him singing. But the image of Castiel as a sweet, soft little thing that they have to protect, is as awestriking as it is harrowing. Dean isn’t a soft guy, he’s just not. He knows he’s been slipping lately, with the cars and the pajamas and sitting in Sam’s lap for _story time_ , for fucks sake, but he can’t let Castiel know that the idea is close enough to hurt him. Castiel already knows too much about how mushy Dean is, Dean can’t let him know that he isn’t sure he would know what to do with something as pure and simple as a _little_ Castiel.

“Yeah, Cas, kinda,” Dean answers, but the implication of shame that passes over Castiel’s face makes him sick to his stomach. He kisses the frown off Castiel’s mouth before it can even fully form and amends, “but so is hunting monsters for a living.”

_Fuck him_ , he can let Castiel have this, he _can._

Never letting go of Castiel completely, he leans over, tugging the pajama set out of the drawer. They’re actually softer, now that they’ve been properly washed, and smell like springtime fabric softener. Castiel relaxes a little when Dean puts them in his hands.

That night, they watch Finding Nemo in bed, with Castiel pressed warmly between them, humming happily. After Sam has curled around Castiel and they’ve both nodded off, Dean lies awake and wonders if he can’t have this sweetness as well, if he’s willing to give up something nobody is trying to take from him anymore. He spins himself in familiar circles of self-deprecation and longing for hours, before deciding to just force it out of his mind.

Gritting your teeth is not a good way to get to sleep, but Dean tries.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean clicks through several pages of pictures – saving a lot of them for personal use – before he finds what he’s looking for. At this point, he’s practically an expert at giving google the correct phrases and following the correct blog links to get what he needs with regard to his… interest. So yes, even as he searches with actual intent instead of just meandering through pastel paradise, he’s having a good time.

When he clicks to add to cart he hesitates a moment longer than he would like to admit as he considers doubling the order. There were things in the shop that were… ok, they were _cute_ , but the thought of putting one on messes him up more than his Cars pajamas (which now smell like Castiel almost _all_ the time, which his heart and his dick both seem to enjoy, damn them). He elects to just get the one, which costs him enough anyway, and doesn’t say a word until it arrives.

But even when it arrives, he finds it a little embarrassing to hold if he thinks about it for too long, so he sneaks it into Castiel’s room without a word before they leave for a case. He’s tricked himself into not thinking about it, distracting himself with the burgers they stop for on the way home (and Sam’s foot pressed between his legs under the booth). However, when they get home and Castiel breaks away to put on clean clothes, Dean starts to fidget.

Sam notices, because he always does. “If you started a prank war on him, you’re an asshole,” he says with a laugh.

“I didn’t,” Dean says, though now that the thought has presented itself, it _is_ tempting. He almost thinks Castiel won’t see his gift, until he hears the thumping of someone running full steam ahead down a hallway. He catches a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye before he’s nearly knocked to the ground by it. “ _Woah!_ ” he exclaims, teetering from the sudden hug, “Hello to you, too!”

“ _I love it,_ ” Castiel says, the antennae on the hood of his kigurumi bobbling happily as he tips his head up to look Dean in the face. He’s practically bouncing in place, eyes shining and bright, as he babbles, “It’s a bee! _I’m_ a bee! I like bees!”

“Yeah, Cas, I know.” Dean’s smile is purely reflex even with how embarrassed he is. “That’s why I got it,” he says and Castiel’s arms are back around him.

“Thank you,” he says, “I—” he’s interrupted by Sam’s abrupt laughter as he comes back into the room.

Dean expects Castiel to flinch away from the sound, but instead he spins towards Sam with a grin, gripping his pant legs and rocking back on his heels like an excited child (an analogy that makes Dean’s heart flip over in his chest with both joy and _longing_ ).

“I’m a bee,” he says, sounding so happy about it Dean’s fondness overtakes his embarrassment.

Sam is still laughing as he comes forward and kisses Castiel’s forehead, reaching around to touch the wings as he does so. “You sure are, baby!” he coos.

“Don’t tease!” Dean snaps. Whether he is feeling testy because of his secret being so close to the real world or protective over Castiel, he can’t parse out.

“I wasn’t! He’s cute!”

“It’s ok,” Castiel says softly, putting his hands on his cheeks, still flushed and smiling to himself. “I like it when you call me baby.”

There’s a moment where Sam’s entire face shifts towards love-struck, which makes sense, but also twitches towards a frown, as if Castiel’s statement has somehow wounded him. He swallows, blushing, and clearing his throat as Dean raises both eyebrows, trying to figure out exactly what Sam’s problem is, why that pained line has settled in his forehead.

It fades slightly, though, when Sam reaches and pulls Castiel close enough to press his cheek into the hood of his onesie, holding him close. “I’m glad, baby,” he whispers.

The adoration in his voice makes Dean feel a little left out, like he suddenly regrets his own inability to just… _enjoy_ things, regardless of how silly they were, the way Castiel does. Even just his toy cars had embarrassed the shit out of him, but here Castiel is in an adult onesie, happy as can be. Dean doesn’t know if he could ever do that, ever get to the point where he would be comfortable looking as bubbly and young as Castiel does. He doesn’t belong on that island, as much as he may want to be there beside Castiel in Sam’s arms. But then they’re both turning to him, Sam holding onto one of Castiel’s wings even as he looks directly at Dean.

 “Would you guys like to start another book?” he asks suddenly, and it sounds like _requesting_ , not offering.

In that moment, Dean realizes Sam was probably never asking just for their sake and that makes him feel warm all over. For some reason, Sam actually, genuinely enjoys having them sprawled across his lap and the couch as he reads to them. It does something for him, _they_ do something for him like this and that makes the whole idea of the experience five times more desirable.

Dean and Castiel look at each other, and he can tell Castiel is feeling the same tingly, _childish_ joy he is at the thought of cramming onto that couch and listening to Sam tell them stories— _give_ them story time.

“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” Dean answers, walking over to take Sam’s free hand.

Yeah, they really, _really_ would.

//

Dean is sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, cleaning his cars when Sam walks in and sits on the couch.

“I’d like a wash and wax if you’re not too busy,” Sam teases from behind him.

“Teehee,” Dean responds distractedly, though he wonders vaguely if they _do_ make wax safe for toy cars and if it’d even be worth it. “I’ll wax your ass while I’m at it.”

“Like you wouldn’t enjoy that,” Sam laughs and slouches back, turning to grab the remote. They sit there like that for a while, Dean focusing on his cars and Sam getting an annoying amount of the Jeopardy questions correct, before Sam speaks up again. “So, am I allowed to be in on this thing, or…?”

Dean hardly turns back, paying closer attention to the speck of dirt he was trying to clean out of the wheel of his Camaro with a toothpick. “What thing?”

“This thing you and Cas have going on.”

Dean freezes, but hopes it looks enough like concentration to pass. “Far as I knew, you were,” he cuts his eyes at Sam, “Or am I imagining that hickey?”

Laughing self-consciously, Sam touches at the bruise Castiel had left on his neck the night before. “You know that isn’t what I meant,” he says. When Dean just stares at him, he straightens out his face, looking serious. “It’s ok if the answer is no, I just wanna know.”

Dean still doesn’t answer, doesn’t even know where to begin. He couldn’t exactly just up and _say_ he wants Sam to put him in cute pajamas and rock him to sleep at night, he can’t even explain the appeal of dinosaur shaped nuggets and toy cars. Sam is the only person that makes Dean feel this way, like maybe it’d be ok for someone else to be in control of his life sometimes. Someone who is bigger and kinder than him, someone who loves him to hell and back and has proved it; someone who loves Castiel – the one who is softer and sweeter than he is – as much as he does.

Sam is _already_ in this, but the fact that he doesn’t know it makes Dean avert his eyes, feeling underhanded. He swallows when Sam sits up, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is it ok that I got you the cars?” he asks and Dean feels worse at the concern in his voice.

 “Yeah, Sammy, that…” he reaches back to take Sam’s hand, looking shyly over his shoulder. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“S’not why I asked,” Sam says, kissing him. “I just want you to know it’s ok to have things to yourself, or things just between you and Cas. We’re in each other’s face a lot as it is,” he says, stroking his hand through Dean’s hair. “We don’t have to do _everything_ times three.”

“Like you two and your fucking salads,” Dean mumbles, smiling when Sam laughs.

“Like us and our happy colons,” Sam corrects, but makes Dean look at him before he continues. “But you don’t _have_ to keep secrets, Dee. Just tell me if I’m doing something wrong here, ok?”

Dean gets the distinct urge to word vomit just then; he wants to tell Sam everything, even the things Castiel doesn’t know.

He wants to talk about how much he loves silly print pajamas and toys and how he wishes he had more. He wants to ask what Sam thinks about turning one of the many spare bedrooms into a play room, with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceilings and a music box on the dresser. He imagines admitting out loud that he thought of calling him _Daddy_ like other littles do, but that wouldn’t encompass the safety and love he feels when he says _Sammy_.

Dean wants to crawl into Sam’s arms and tell him everything he has ever wanted and hear him say everything is ok and he loves him, _loves his little boy_ no matter what _._ But the want he feels clogs his throat and instead he just shakes his head. “Everything is fine, Sammy,” he says, “Cas likes bees and I thought he’d get a kick out of the hoodie.” He shrugged, “It’s cute.”

“It _is_ cute…” Sam says hesitantly. Dean thinks for a moment that he isn’t going to let it go, but then Sam just kisses his temple and sits back on the couch. “Ok, Dee,” he says, “But you know, if you ever want to talk…”

“Yeah, ok, this chick flick is over.” He doesn’t even have to look to know Sam is rolling his eyes.

Which is good, because he doesn’t want Sam to see his eyes watering.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean can’t say Castiel was ever quite the same brand of Emotionally Constipated that he and Sam were, but he was still pretty damn close. In the very beginning, Dean wasn’t exactly sure Castiel _had_ emotions in the first place, but then he was lost – _heart thudding, breath stalled_ – in the way Castiel’s eyes could flash through more emotions in a single moment that Dean could process in an entire week. Now, his eyes still say a lot more than his face on occasion, but Dean and Sam have been graced with the privilege of seeing Castiel’s unchecked facial expressions. Like the gentle quirk of his brows when he doesn’t quite get it, but thinks it’s funny anyway or how soft his eyes get when he just silently watches things he loves – like bees, and cats, and stars, and Winchesters.

Some expressions are more endearing than others, though, and when Castiel stops in the doorway to the kitchen with his forehead pinched and his eyes on the ground, Dean sees the sharp concern he feels mirrored in Sam’s eyes.

“Hey, man,” Sam says cautiously, but sucks in a breath when that just makes Castiel’s lips thin out.

Dean turns in his chair, “What’s up, Cas?”

“I’m feeling a little weird,” he says softly, but he doesn’t sound sick or cursed (thank, _fuck_ ). In fact, if Dean isn’t mistaken, Castiel sounds ashamed, like he did back in the day when getting turned on over them made him feel guilty. That makes him relax from where he’d been prepared to leap from the chair, but doesn’t quell the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Even when Castiel rubs at his eye and says, “I just wanted to be around you.”

The aura of someone much younger – little, someone _little_ – is hanging around Castiel and Dean suddenly has a very good guess what’s happening here. It makes him tense up, feeling off balance.

Sam, however, visibly relaxes, and Dean figures he must not have a _clue_ how Castiel feels. But then Sam pushes away from the table, turning half towards Castiel, and says “Want to sit in my lap, baby?” and Dean feels his stomach flutter.

Castiel’s wide eyes jerk up to Sam’s immediately, mouth open as if to speak, but Dean beats him to it. “Laying it on kinda thick there, aren’t you?” he snaps.

Sam looks a little affronted. “Hey, he said he likes it!”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Castiel mumbles before Dean can respond and Dean’s heart breaks a little.

“No, Cas,” Sam says slowly, appearing confused as to why Castiel would even think that. “I think it’s sweet.”

There’s a small pause in which Castiel looks away again. “I _do_ like it.”

“Then talk to us, Cas,” Sam says, “What’s going on?”

There’s a moment when Dean thinks Castiel is going to pull a true Winchester and shut them out, judging by the way he stays stiff and stays quiet. But then Castiel clenches his jaw and – Dean _aches,_ Castiel should never have to steel himself to come to them – and crosses to the table.

Castiel pauses just before he reaches Sam, seemingly losing his nerve, and turns to sit at the chair closest to the door; not like he wants to either, but like he’s _supposed to_. “It’s weird,” he says and the confused shame on his face is almost too much to bear.

“What? No, Cas,” Sam shakes his head, “People call their lovers ‘baby’ all the time, that’s not—”

“I know, but that’s not…” Castiel goes pink, shrinking in on himself. “That’s not why I like it.”

At those words, Dean’s heart is about to crash out of his chest. “Then why do you like it?”

All Castiel does is look to Dean and Dean knows the answer, _feels_ it like a kick in the chest. Castiel, curled in on himself and eyes damp, is looking at Dean pleadingly, everything about his body language asking Dean to help him, _protect_ him from feeling this vulnerable, this lonely, this _little._

Dean wants to scream that he doesn’t even know how to save himself from this.

Sam notices the glance between them with his eyes narrowed in thought, but the kind smile that suddenly stretches over his face is for Castiel. “Do you think you would like _being_ a baby?” His expression doesn’t change even when Castiel and Dean stare at him in blank shock.

“ _What?_ ” Dean exclaims.

“Just spit balling here,” Sam says pacifyingly to Dean. He holds up a hand to Castiel who looks like he might be breathing a little funny. “I’m not accusing you of anything, ok? I just want to know,” he tips his head forward like he is talking to someone much smaller, who might not understand him. “Do you like it when I call you ‘baby’ because it makes you feel… little?”

The word is so benign, but the fact that Sam is using it now, saying it like he knows what it implies, makes Dean flush.

Castiel is also blushing, but the relief on his face casts it almost completely into shadow. He gives a small nod, his hand coming to mess nervously at his lip.

Sam touches the back of his hand and Dean can tell by the set of his shoulders, he feels grounded now, feels like he knows what he’s dealing with and can make it better. “Cas, we can talk about that if you want. It may _sound_ weird,” he says, emphasis on ‘sound’, “but it’s not exactly unheard of for adults to pretend to be babies.”

“But Dean said—”

“It doesn’t matter what I said,” Dean says instantly, perhaps a little too harshly. Sam looks concerned enough to ask _exactly_ what conversation involved a discussion like this, but Dean doesn’t look at him. He looks at Castiel, who is regarding him warily enough that Dean feels guilty. He lowers his voice. “Is that something you want, Cas? To be a—” he stutters over the word, “a _little_?”

When Castiel’s only answer is his eyes filling with tears and his fingers sliding into his mouth a little, Sam takes Castiel’s free hand between both of his.

“Cas, it’s _more_ than ok if you do,” Sam says, kissing Castiel’s fingers. “I would love to take care of you as a baby.”

“You would do that?” Castiel asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

“You’re asking the sappiest Dom we know if he’d like to take care of someone?” Dean asks, though his voice is a little reedy. He _knows_ Sam would take care of them, Sam already _does_ take care of them. The thing is, this time, Dean so _desperately_ wants to let him, but he is not a baby, he is not soft and sweet like Castiel inside, no matter what he may dream about when the world gets too heavy. He’s not a baby anymore and can’t be again.

Sam chuckles. “I’ve never gotten to try, but I think I would really love being a caregiver.” He smiles and presses Castiel’s fingers to his cheek. “Would you like that? To be Big Sammy’s little Cassie?”

Dean is silently wondering how Sam could say something like that so shamelessly, but his thoughts derail when Castiel starts gasping for breath, face broken and tears trickling down his cheeks. “Sammy…” he whines reaching out and Sam doesn’t hesitate to take him in his arms, clucking his tongue soothingly.

“You’ll probably make the sweetest baby in the world,” Sam says, rocking him from side to side and kissing his temple.

Dean scoffs, “ _Probably._ ” He comes close enough to stick his nose against Castiel’s neck, to hide what he knows is a faraway look in his eyes. “You _know_ he’d be the sweetest baby.”

And he means it, he doesn’t have to pretend when he says it. So he lets himself think that this could really be enough. That Castiel could be the soft, warm thing he holds in his arms when it’s late and he can’t sleep; that what he really wants isn’t to _be_ little, but to have someone little and sweet to smile at him and giggle at him when he blows raspberries on his cheek.

Yeah, maybe that’s what these stupid, late-night desires have been trying to tell him.

Maybe Castiel being a little is the answer.

//

Castiel being a little is definitely not going to be the answer Dean thought it would be.

He is right about Castiel being the sweetest baby ever; walking around in his onesie with his fingers in his mouth and blushing ( _so pretty_ ) every time one of them even speaks to him. Curling up as small as he can to fit in their laps or between them, soft and warm and smelling like baby shampoo. It’s not an everyday occurrence, but they have all learned to recognize when Castiel is stepping back and Cassie is making himself known. Cassie doesn’t really speak, but he still projects love and desire and benevolence with all his body and Dean love, love, _loves him._

But Dean can tell that first night that this is going to be a problem for him.

They’re laying together, Castiel’s back pressed against his chest and Sam on the other side of Castiel, looking at him with his honestly patient, _I-love-you-talk-to-me_ eyes and holding Castiel’s hands. “What do you need from me?” he asks, “What does our Cassie need?”

Castiel shivers in his arms and Dean holds him close, shutting his eyes and nosing into his hair. “You,” Castiel responds. “I feel so safe with you, I just… sometimes, it’s nice to pretend that’s all there is. That—” he pulls Sam’s hands to his face, “that I’m just yours and I don’t have to explain myself, I just have to _be._ There’s no reason to explain why I want footie pajamas or coloring books or,” he grips Dean’s hand where it rests on his stomach, “or toy cars, because that’s just what kids want, that’s what we—they _do_.

“The world… doesn’t have to be anything bigger than what Sam, what _Sammy_ gives me,” he continues in a quiet, shaky voice, “I want to know that the things I’m doing are _right_ and if not my-my Sammy will teach me how to make it better. I just wanna be your _baby_.”

Dean can tell Castiel is tearing up, partly from the sound of his voice, but also from the way Dean himself is tearing up. Son of a _bitch,_ he’s so fucked up because everything Castiel is saying, Dean feels to the core of his being. Sam who is smart and strong and, in spite of it all, kind and _good_ would make any child feel safe and loved. They would be spoiled with love, but Castiel was right, Sam would _never_ leave a little kid on their own to just figure out their screw ups. Sam was the kind of guy who could make a stern talking to feel like a spanking and if he were to say “this hurts me more than it hurts you”, you might just actually believe him. Sam would never leave them alone, Sam would make them be good boys. He’d make everything okay.

A world underneath him would be beautiful and Dean wants to _be_ there.

He pinches his lips together and keeps stroking Castiel’s stomach to distract himself.

“That’s enough for me, Cassie,” Sam responds lowly, curling forward and kissing Castiel’s face. “All you had to do is ask. You’re my baby, you’re all mine.”

Dean’s heart hurts, but for however much it is a deeper and somehow more all-encompassing feeling, it is a familiar one.

Yeah, it’s going to be hard to not be who Castiel is (not Sammy’s little, not wrapped in a blankie and the knowledge that the world is small and forgiving), but Dean Winchester _lives_ hard, that’s his _job_.

He kisses the back of Castiel’s head and forces himself to just breathe.

He can deal with this.


	8. Chapter 8

Except for how Dean _can’t_ deal with this because Castiel and Sam both _know_ him.

Dean would sooner cut off his own foot before he would distance himself from Castiel, but that seems like the only way to keep it together. It’s something about the almost vacant peace in Castiel’s face when Sam dresses him and sits him to color on the floor by his feet, or calls him baby and nuzzles his cheek that sets Dean off. Because Sam has not turned from Dean in the slightest – he still gets kissed and hugged and fucked and he still gets Sam’s _time_ and attention, but he’s just…

He wants that _peace_. He wants to be able to sit and play with his cars without feeling like an intruder, because even though Sam and Castiel very clearly welcome and love him he just _can’t. go. there._ He is not a baby and doesn’t _need_ to be treated like one. But he’s starting to _feel_ like a baby and the number of nights he puts his face into his Cars pajamas and cries for the two people he loves most and who are _still here_ is getting out of hand.

Sam is the first to notice and gives Dean the “I still love you, I’m not leaving you” speech which is nice, but honestly, sets Dean’s teeth on edge. His response is so clipped that Sam honestly steps back a bit, the stress line in his forehead deepening, until Dean pushes forward and kisses it away. Sam is not one to be distracted for long, but Dean just needs it to work until he can fix the look on his face.

Castiel notices, too, and that’s a little more heartbreaking.

Dean had noticed Castiel wasn’t wearing the onesie as much and that his coloring books were almost nowhere to be found, but he doesn’t conclude _why_ until he walks in on Castiel sitting on the couch with his pacifier in his mouth and the look of contentedness on his face flashes to guilty shock.

Sam had gotten that pacifier for Castiel about a week ago and, even over his own pain, Dean had felt warmed by his words. “ _You don’t have to suck on it,_ ” Sam had told Castiel, stroking his cheek and looking so in love it was like sunlight, “ _if you just want to hold it to remind yourself you have a Big at home, you can do that too._ ” And Dean knows it didn’t leave Castiel’s hands that whole day, and would venture he slept with it that night he was so happy with it.

But now, Castiel nearly drops the dummy out of his mouth, but Dean catches it before it falls to his lap, pressing it back in. “Cutie,” he says, smiling and kissing the back of it. When Castiel just frowns at him, Dean sits down and pulls Castiel until he’s draped over his lap. He should be asking “ _what’s with that face?_ ” or just skipping ahead to “ _you worry too much_ ” but the words are stalled in his throat; he just quietly sits and draws on Castiel’s back with his finger until he gets dizzy with focus. This part isn’t so bad, he thinks. He already enjoys being close to Castiel, and when Castiel is little, he’s nothing if not wonderful. If he just focuses on this, focuses outside himself and how much he wants to be more than he is, he can handle this as it is. He’ll be ok if he just thinks about how much he loves Castiel and stops trying to figure out how he could possibly fit into what Castiel and Sam are.

“I love you,” Castiel says softly, making Dean jump slightly.

He pauses in his drawing, losing track of the wing of the duck he’d been working on. “I know, Cas, I love you, too,” he says, letting go when Castiel turns over in his lap, half sitting up, the pacifier laying on the couch, as loaded as a gun. Dean hates himself for even thinking of it like that.

“So tell me how to make this better,” Castiel says and that line of concern has not left his forehead.

Dean tries to laugh, reaching to smooth out that wrinkle with his thumb. “What do you—?”

“You know what I mean,” Castiel cuts in and Dean is cold when Castiel sits up fully out of his lap. “Dean, I can see you’re hurting, because of _me_ —”

“ _No,_ ” Dean responds instantly, though it shakes. “It’s not because of you, never.”

“Then because of _this_ ,” Castiel corrects, taking Dean’s hand. “Please, tell me what I can do.”

Dean starts to tell him he can’t do anything. That just like everything else wrong with him, it’s not something anyone else can fix, it’s just _him_ being _wrong_. It’s all him not being brave enough, not being sweet enough, not being _little_ enough. It’s that this whole thing falls apart if one of them gets jealous, so Dean _refuses_ to be jealous, because he refuses to lose this. So, he’s fine, it’s fine, it’s all fine; he tries to say that nothing is wrong, but he can’t make his mouth work.

He doesn’t realize he’s looked away until Castiel catches him by the cheek and turns him back so they’re face to face. He doesn’t realize he’s started tearing up until he can barely see Castiel’s face, can’t blink or his tears will fall. He freezes. He hears Castiel say his name, voice thick with distress, but he can’t comfort him like this, because… He may not be little enough to curl up and babble like a good baby, but he’s not Big enough to take care of little Cassie the way he needs either. He’s not even Big enough to take care of himself, apparently, if the tears running down his cheeks were anything to go by.

When Sam’s voice joins the mix, Dean tries to quickly wipe his face, but Castiel won’t let go of his other hand. Well, Dean has hurt Castiel enough, he won’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, even if it’s holding onto someone who can’t even _fucking_ hold it together for him. Dean’s throat gets tight at the thought and he scrubs at his face with one fist as Sam enters the room.

Sam takes one look at Dean’s blotchy face and the alarm in Castiel’s eyes and he has had _enough_.

He comes over slowly like he’s afraid he might scare Dean away. Dean looks everywhere but in his brother’s eyes. If he looks at him right now, he might not be able to lie.

“Ok, Dee,” Sam sighs, sitting on the coffee table in front of Dean and putting a hand on his knee. “We gotta talk.”

Dean sniffs, staring down at where Castiel’s hand is clenched in his and Sam’s is gently resting on his leg; he almost could die from how much he loves them and how much that hurts him right now. “’bout what?” he asks.

Sam doesn’t respond immediately, but then he’s leaning forward into Dean’s space. Dean isn’t the least bit surprised, but still flinches when Sam’s hand touches his face, causing Sam to frown. “Dean, please look at me,” he says and his voice is so desperate sounding Dean – _stupid, stupid, don’t_ – couldn’t deny him anything. He looks up and the worry in Sam’s eyes is nearly blinding, “Tell me what’s going on here, Dee. What’s wrong?”

_Me!!_

Dean bites his lip, uncomfortably close to outright sobbing. He wants more than anything for Sam to be able to fix this, but he _can’t_ , he can’t fix Dean. Sam could save the whole world and he wouldn’t be able to fix Dean. He shuts his eyes, voice cracking as he whispers, “I’m not a baby.”

“Ok!” Sam says, confused and even still, so loving and reassuring. “That’s ok! You don’t have to be a…” his voice tapers off and he blinks, seeming to come to some kind of realization. The disappointment in his eyes kills Dean until Sam actually speaks, “Tell me what you are, Dean.”

“What?” Dean asks, confused and his heart jammed in his throat.

“If you’re not a baby,” Sam says and Dean realizes abruptly Sam is disappointed in _himself_ and Dean can’t _think_. “If you’re not a baby,” Sam repeats, softly stroking Dean’s cheek, “what are you, Dee?”

Dean can hardly breathe at the question, but the answer comes to him immediately. “I’m not a baby, I’m just…” he takes a big, shuddering breath. “I’m just a little boy,” he whimpers.

“Ok,” Sam smiles at him and Dean feels like his whole world is lighting up. “And what does this little boy want?”

“I wanna be Sammy’s little boy. And a good big brother for Cassie,” he presses his own fist back into his eye as he starts to cry, words tumbling out in a shaky mess. “I don’t wanna be a baby, I wanna be able to do stuff for our Cassie ‘cause our Sammy told me how to. I wanna be a good boy!!”

“Oh, Dee, come here, buddy,” Sam says and moves up onto the sofa to wrap his arms around Dean.

“I don’t wanna be in charge anymore,” Dean blubbers, the flood gates are open and he can’t stop himself. “I’m so _tired_ , and I wanna be able to let _go_ , but I can’t be a baby, I gotta be able to—” he loses his breath and just whines, “ _Cassie._ ” And instantly, Castiel is half in his lap, wiping his tears and kissing his face repeatedly. “I gotta be good for Cassie, too, but I can’t be Big, Sammy, _I can’t_.”

“You don’t have to be, Dee,” Sam says, grinning at Dean. “You don’t have to be a _baby-_ baby either! You can still be my baby boy,” Sam says and kisses him briefly. “My silly little boy, I would love that very, very much.”

Dean feel so relieved he doesn’t know what to do with himself, just holds onto his Sammy and his Cassie and cries. He feels so stupid, drunk on his relief, he wants to stop, he _can’t_ stop.

“It’s ok,” Sam says rubbing comforting circles into Dean’s chest, while Castiel presses his face against Dean’s throat. “You don’t have to hold back anymore, buddy, I got you. We’re here with you.”

They sit like that for a long while after Dean has gone quiet, only moving when Dean realizes his leg has gone numb from Castiel sitting on it.

Sniffing and clearing his throat, he sits back a bit to smile weakly at Castiel. “Cutting off the blood flow there, babe.”

Castiel shifts, rubbing Dean’s thigh apologetically as Sam laughs and reaches over to the table for a tissue. “Better?” he asks, wiping Dean’s nose and smiling in that funny way people smile at crying children.

Dean blushes, but also feels happy down to his toes to let Sam do even something like this. He nods and looks down apologetically. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to be such a punk about this.” He isn’t ready for the way Sam suddenly frowns at him.

Sam tosses the tissues before taking both of Dean’s hands. “Dean, do you even realize how strong you have to be to do what you did? No—” in a move that is quickly becoming a habit, Sam grabs his chin before he can look away. “No, seriously. After everything you’ve been through, you still managed to protect this precious, _little_ part of yourself.

“And then you were strong enough to let it _go_ and trust me _—_ ” he reaches and puts a hand on Castiel’s head, “trust _us_ with _you_ , Dean.” He hugs him close, kissing his forehead as he does. “You are not a punk, you are my very brave little boy.”

It’s ingrained in Dean to argue against any insinuation of his virtue; for as long as he can remember, he couldn’t take direct, heartfelt complements without feeling deceitful. But right now, with Sam looking at him with so much love, all he feels is profound trust. His Big, his _Sammy_ wouldn’t lie to him about something like this, right? If Sammy believes he is a brave little boy, it must be true, right? When he looks over to see Castiel looking up at him adoringly, he feels the confidence in that knowledge growing.

“I wanna be your little boy,” Dean says in a small, uncertain voice that he’s never let anyone hear before, clinging to Sam while turning to grab Castiel’s binky off the couch. He wipes it on his shirt and presses it back into Castiel’s mouth before rubbing their noses together. “I wanna be a big boy for baby.”

Castiel answers him with a pleased whine, closing his eyes and pressing the back of his pacifier against Dean’s cheek like a kiss.

“That sounds wonderful,” Sam says. “Every baby needs a big brother to keep an eye on them.”

Dean doubts it is possible for Sam to know the extent to which those words soothed the disquiet in his heart. All he’s wanted, but has _never_ had, is to have someone taking care of him so he can be good for someone else. Sam loves him, loves them both, and will never let him fall or be bad to his baby. Castiel will be the soft spot beneath him that he can safely sink into with Sam’s hands guiding him the whole way. He doesn’t have to worry about fitting into the little space Sam has created for Castiel.

The place in between them is already _his_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, oh my, a formal apology for the delay! I forgot I was working late two days in a row, it was a doozy! Anywho, here is the final little bit! An epilogue for your perusal!

Dean is a very big boy and gets out of bed all by himself this morning.

He’s feeling a little silly and shy, dressed only in his Hot Wheels briefs, but he’s also flushed with excitement. Sammy has left his clothes for the day neatly folded on his desk; a pair of plaid red overall shorts that say “Lil’ Champ” across the front and a white t-shirt underneath. Dean doesn’t normally like shorts very much, but he thinks it’ll be ok. He isn’t really going anywhere and they _are_ pretty soft compared to blue jeans. When he puts them on, he looks down at his legs and flexes his toes, deciding that it doesn’t look bad. It’s not cold inside either, so even though he still feels shy and shivery, he leaves them on. Sammy said if he really didn’t like them, he could put on something else. But if Sammy picked them out then Sammy must like them and today Dean feels like being a good boy.

He’s trying to decide if he wants to leave one shoulder unhooked, just so Sammy can fix it, when he hears a soft whine outside his room. Grinning, he drops the strap and goes to open the door instantly, “Hi, Cassie!”

Cassie looks like something straight out of a dream as he smiles at him around his pacifier, rubbing one eye with his fist and the other clenching his blankie to his chest. His onesie isn’t fuzzy wuzzy right now because Sammy said it would be too warm for playing around, but it is still very, very soft. It’s ocean blue with bright green froggies hopping happily from lily pad to lily pad. The frogs are sticky under Dean’s hands when he reaches to pull Cassie into a hug that makes him coo happily.

He also pouts sweetly when Dean pulls back and tugs the dummy out of his mouth, leaning down to kiss him. Little Castiel’s kisses are always really just him lovingly suckling on his Dee and his Sammy’s lips, but the two find the action too endearing to teach him better. Dean pulls away slightly damp and flushed, but he has a lot of good memories that could be described that way and he certainly doesn’t mind.

Taking Cassie’s hand, he’s starts to head back out the doorway, but stops when Cassie whimpers, pulling back into the room. Dean turns with his brow crinkled in confusion, but it quickly morphs into a grin when he realizes what Cassie is pointing at, remembers was Sammy promised them after breakfast. He bundles his blankets into his arms and passes Cassie the pillows, “Come on, baby.”

Sammy is standing in front of the stove with his back to them when they come in and Dean takes a moment to just look. It is clear that Cassie has seen him already (he probably helped him get dressed this morning), judging by the “ _I know, right?_ ” eyes he’s giving Dean. Sammy’s not layered up like he normally is; hair pulled back and barefoot, he’s wearing a pair of slouchy, faded dad jeans with a plain white t-shirt. It is by no means an odd or costumed outfit, but it still makes him look like a dad that woke up early and threw on something simple so he could be ready before his kids. It makes Dean want to press his face into the spot between his shoulder blades so he does.

“Hey, buddy!” Sammy says, turning to him with a smile and moving him backwards. “Careful around the stove.”

Dean pouts when Sam kisses his forehead and hooks his overalls properly. “I _knooow_ , I’m a big boy!” he grouses when Sammy ruffles his hair.

“I _knooow_ ,” Sam teases, then laughs when Castiel wanders over, clutching Dean’s pillow. He takes it and stacks it on the blankets in Dean’s arms. “Go put those in the living room with the others.”

Dean does as he’s told because he’s a very good boy and comes back to find Castiel seated at the table, a bib fixed around his neck. He is about to slide into the seat next to him when Sam turns to him from where he’s getting plates out of the cabinet; Dean is thrilled to see they’re plastic and covered in Winnie the Pooh.

“Ah, ah!” Sam says, “Wash those paws first!”

Dean blows a raspberry, but still walks over to the sink. “Yes, Sammy.”

Breakfast this morning is Mickey Mouse pancakes (that Sammy carefully cuts for Cassie and only chuckles, shaking his head, when Dean shoves half of one into his mouth), scrambled eggs, bacon strips, and watermelon cubes. Dean feels bright and happy, stuffing his face and yammering about what they’re going to do today. Sam is plenty happy to let him talk, only occasionally reminding Dean to chew first, as he alternates between feeding himself and Castiel.

They’re giggly and covered in syrup by the time they finish eating, Dean leaning over to lick a stray drop off Castiel’s cheek. Sam lets him continue until he comes back with a damp rag, stealing two sticky kisses before scrubbing their faces and hands.

“I’ll clean up today,” Sam says to Dean, who sometimes has (see: _needs_ to be given) chores. “You two go get started.” He smiles when his littles’ eyes light up and they join hands.

“Ok, Sammy!” Dean says and Castiel gives a little salute that makes them all laugh.

All the spare arm chairs are already situated around the couch, with the big pile of blankets, pillows, and a few stuffed animals in the middle. Dean stands with his hands on his hips and looks down at the pile like it is a really, really tough puzzle. When Cassie tugs on his overalls and just smiles and shrugs, Dean smiles back. “Yeah, let’s just wing it!” he says, feeling giddy for being able to say that without feeling worried or sick about it.

The blanket fort is not ornate by any means, but by the time Sam comes and helps them secure the corners so they won’t fall in, it’s about the prettiest blanket fort Dean has ever laid eyes on. He and Castiel share one look with each other and drop to their knees, clambering onto the pile of pillows and landing in a heap of laughter.

“Hey!” Sam calls from where he is grabbing Castiel’s pacifier. “You didn’t wait for me!”

“You gotta tell us the password!” Dean says and Cassie giggles, covering his face with both hands.

“Is it ‘stinky feet’?”

“No!”

“Is it ‘knock-knock’? ‘ _Ding-dong’!?_ ”

“No!”

“Is it… ‘I’m coming it anyway’!?”

“ _No!_ ” Dean and Cassie both shriek, but Sammy is already crawling in over them, pressing them down with his body. “You’re _heavy_!”

“What? Nuh-uh!” Sammy teases, peppering their faces with kisses. “I’m _supposed_ to be right here on my babies! Right?” He starts to tickle them, “ _Right?_ ”

“Ok, ok!” Dean laughs breathlessly, crossing his arms as Castiel holds Sam’s hands still against his smiling lips. “You can stay!” He starts to add on “if you get off!” just to be funny, but he feels pleasantly smushed between Sammy and Cassie and the pillows. He knows Sam’s going to move in a second anyway.

When he does though, he tugs them both in close so they’re laying pressed against his sides as he lays on his back between them. They do shadow puppets and play zoo with their animals; they kiss and cuddle and Sam tells them the G-rated versions of stories he heard in college. They talk about all the fun things they want to do as Big and littles and Dean is certain he and Castiel are the luckiest little boys ever to have a Big like Sammy.

Even when Sam tries to get out to stretch and sends the whole fort toppling into a pile of sheets, Castiel and Dean are not even upset. They’re just happy to spend the day rebuilding their little blanket castle so they can cuddle up and take a nap before dinner.

Dean stares over Sam’s chest at Castiel sucking drowsily on his pacifier, the light filtered and soft through the blanket and, for once, as he falls asleep he does not think of a world that exists outside of the arms and love of his little family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading…the place you fit in is waiting for you and it’s gonna be great


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